Foreign Affairs

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘It’s a miracle,’ murmured Conchita.

  Jennifer explained the reason for the personality changes.

  ‘I’ll pray for good weather every day,’ laughed the housekeeper as she prepared a tray for Gillian, or the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ as she privately called her. Jennifer liked Conchita and Estella. They were good-natured and good-humoured. Kindly correcting her when she made mistakes in her Spanish.

  ‘Can we go now?’ Gavin asked, shovelling the last of his cornflakes down his throat.

  ‘Remember I told you, you have to wait for an hour after eating before you go swimming. It’s very dangerous to go swimming immediately, you could get cramp and drown,’ Jennifer explained. Gavin looked crestfallen. Sometimes she felt sorry for the children in spite of herself. It wasn’t their fault that they were spoilt rotten because Gillian always gave in to them. ‘Let’s go for a walk down town, and if you’re good you can buy something with your pocket money, and then we can swim when we get back,’ she proposed.

  Squeals of delight followed this suggestion. Twenty minutes later the trio were heading down the circular drive towards the small town of Santa Juan. It was incredible how different the place was when the sun was shining, Jennifer thought, gazing around in delight at the glorious vibrant Mediterranean colours. In the near distance, just below them, Santa Juan curved in a U-shape to embrace the glittering blue waters flowing between the two wide verdant headlands. Villas and small blocks of residential apartments dotted the landscape, perched amidst the pines. There were also several modern apartment buildings and evidence of new building sites. The tourist trail was catching up with Santa Juan, Jennifer reflected.

  Gavin and Emma skipped ahead of her. They were walking down a gentle hill, passing terracotta-roofed whitewashed villas nestling among exotic flowering shrubs. It was all so different from the ordinary street she lived on at home. It seemed idyllic and unreal, and the light was so bright, the colours far more vivid than at home. It was very hot too. Even though they’d protested, she’d insisted the children wear sun hats.

  ‘Look, look, Jennifer,’ Gavin yelled excitedly and Emma dashed back to hold her hand as a tiny green lizard scooted across the footpath.

  Urrg! thought Jennifer, disgusted, but she didn’t let on, and oohed and aahed with forced enthusiasm. They reached the bottom of the hill and followed the curve of the road until it joined the bustling main street. Supermarkets, cafés, perfume shops, pharmacies, book and newspaper shops, clothes and souvenir shops beckoned. Jennifer couldn’t wait to explore. But not today. Sunday was her day off, that was the agreement. On Sunday she would come down town by herself and browse to her heart’s content.

  Sundays became the days that Jennifer lived for. Looking after two boisterous easily bored children was no picnic. She needed that one day to replenish her energies. Usually she got up early and went to Mass in the small church at the far end of town. Then she went to one of the bookshops, or Librarias, as they were called. Jennifer loved to pass an hour or so flicking through glossy magazines like Der Spiegel and Paris Match, reading about the jet set of Europe. There was usually an article about Princess Caroline, who fascinated Jennifer. They were of an age, but their lifestyles were totally different. Previously, when she’d read about the young princess from Monaco, and her life of parties and pleasure, Jennifer felt vaguely dissatisfied with her own humdrum existence. She was determined to break out of her own boring little rut. Jennifer had certainly taken a major step in that direction by coming to Majorca. After her perusal of the magazines, she usually bought one of the English newspapers, even though they were a day behind. Then she would go to one of the open air restaurants, order croissants and coffee and sit munching and reading.

  After that, she might go shopping, spending several hours browsing. Sometimes she took the bus into Palma to go sightseeing. Gillian hired a car and they travelled around the island. They visited the Caves of Drach, a pearl factory in Manacor, and went to several huge open air markets. But Jennifer loved taking off by herself with no children hanging out of her. Sundays were real treat days.

  Usually around four in the afternoon, after lunch in a café, she would head for the beach and toast her limbs and swim and read until after seven. Then she’d go back to the villa, shower and change and go to meet her friend Charlotte at the El Alhambra night-club.

  Charlotte was an au pair also. Jennifer had met her at the beach one day. Emma came screeching over to Jennifer, who was trying to read the novel Hotel, claiming that a boy had pushed her in the sand. She was whingeing and whining as only she knew how and Jennifer felt like picking her up and dunking her, head-first, into the sea. Admirably, she restrained herself and soothed the little girl with promises of an ice cream on the way home.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she heard a pleasant voice say. ‘My brats think they own the beach.’ Jennifer looked up to find a smiling fair-haired girl holding a toddler by one hand and a squirming little boy by the other.

  ‘Say sorry to the little girl,’ she insisted, and Jennifer knew by her accent that she was from the north of England.

  ‘Get lost an’ leave me alone.’ The little boy struggled against her hold.

  ‘Say sorry or I’m going to spank you, Oliver,’ the girl insisted. ‘And I won’t let you have a ride on the donkey in the square.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the boy said sulkily.

  ‘Right then, off you go and play. I don’t want to hear another word,’ the girl said crossly.

  ‘Isn’t it awful the way you have to bribe them to be good? I’m telling you, if he was mine, I’d sort him out. My name’s Charlotte. I’m these darlings’ au pair.’

  ‘I’m Jennifer, I’m an au pair too, and I know exactly how you feel.’ Jennifer laughed, delighted to meet someone in the same boat as herself.

  ‘Will I come over and join you, or do you just want to be left in peace?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Jennifer said eagerly, pleased by the idea of getting to know someone. She got up and helped the other girl bring over buckets and spades and towels to the spot where she’d been sitting.

  ‘Why don’t you and Gavin go and build a big castle with a moat?’ Jennifer suggested to Oliver, who was scuffling sand in their direction. The two boys eyed each other warily.

  ‘Go on,’ insisted Charlotte. Five minutes later they were busily engaged in building a castle and they were the best of friends.

  ‘Thank heavens for that. You know they get lonely for kids of their own age.’ Charlotte sighed. Emma was playing with the toddler, a two-year-old called Sally. They both seemed contented enough too.

  Charlotte’s employers were a British couple who owned a large clothing factory in the midlands. They owned a villa, not far from where Jennifer was staying. They came to Majorca for three months each summer. Charlotte was expected to wash and iron clothes and make breakfast and tea and wash up after it, as well as looking after the children. Jennifer’s job was much less onerous. After all, there was a housekeeper and a maid at the villa.

  Charlotte had been working with the Reeves for over a year, she explained, but she was getting fed up. As soon as the holidays were over she was going to leave her job and travel.

  They got into the habit of meeting at the beach daily and often arranged little outings together for the four children. Gillian was perfectly happy with this arrangement. All she wanted to do was loll around the pool sipping Bacardi. The less she saw of the children, the more it suited her. She needed to relax and re-energize, she told Jennifer. She had so much entertaining to do when she was at home, she was completely exhausted.

  Charlotte’s day off was Sunday also, so she and Jennifer started going out together on Sunday nights. They enjoyed each other’s company, they shared moans about their employers and their brats of children, and they enjoyed being chatted up at the disco. Sunday nights made the rest of the week worth while.

  The days slipped lazily by. Gillian, who had met several other couples, was spending a
lot of time at a posh golf and leisure club just outside of town. Several times, a tall blond man called to pick her up at the villa. He was a tennis pro, she explained to Jennifer. His name was Sven and he was helping her to improve her game. She sparkled vivaciously whenever he was around. Once, when Jennifer was bathing the children, she’d looked out the window and seen Gillian and Sven embracing by the pool. She was deeply shocked. Gillian was married. Her husband phoned regularly to see how she and the children were and to explain that business was keeping him from joining them. It was quite obvious, after several weeks, that Sven was doing far more than coaching Gillian at her tennis. They were spending a lot of time together. According to Conchita they were having an affair. Jennifer thought the housekeeper was exaggerating.

  One afternoon Jennifer had to bring the children home early from the beach because Emma was feverish. As she walked towards Emma’s bedroom, she realized that the tennis pro and Gillian were making passionate love in the master bedroom.

  Later, when he’d gone, Gillian breezed into the lounge and poured herself a drink. ‘I suppose you must know by now that Sven and I are more than good friends,’ she said, giving a breathless little giggle. She was wearing a designer swimsuit and a vibrantly patterned sarong. She was glowing.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ Jennifer murmured, embarrassed.

  ‘Sweetheart, the reason my dearly beloved husband hasn’t found the time to grace us with his presence is because he’s screwing the ass off that prize bitch Angie Baldwin. Not only did the slut pinch my au pair, she also pinched my husband.’ Gillian scowled. ‘The loan of this villa was a heaven-sent opportunity for them to get me out of the way so they could spend the summer fucking each other’s brains out. Not,’ she drawled, ‘that Angie Baldwin has any brains. She’s the proverbial dumb blonde. I mean, she can’t even throw a dinner party without cocking it up. She thinks Châteaubriand is wine, for God’s sake!’ Jennifer hid a smile. She wasn’t too sure what Châteaubriand was, but it was a bit rich for Gillian to be calling Angie a dumb blonde. Gillian took a thirsty sip of her Bacardi, lit a menthol cigarette and sat down gracefully on one of the sofas.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how kind I was to her when she joined our bridge club, she hadn’t a clue. They’d just come into money and had bought a house in Killiney, not far from us. I introduced her to our friends. I took her shopping. I treated her to lunch in the best restaurants. Invited her to our parties. I bent over backwards to introduce her to our set, even though she was obviously out of her depth,’ Gillian said viciously. Jennifer was fascinated. It was the first time Gillian had spoken about herself or her background.

  ‘Her husband owns a chain of bookies and snooker halls!’ Gillian turned up her dainty little button nose scornfully. ‘They’re very nouveau riche. You should see the house, sweetheart. Ghastly! Pink frills and flounces everywhere. It’s like a bordello.’

  ‘Really,’ murmured Jennifer, not sure what else to say.

  ‘She’s got this huge conservatory with artificial plants, my dear. It’s so dreadfully common.’ Gillian grimaced. ‘Common or not, Bryan fell for her hook, line and sinker. She was always wearing these really skin-tight dresses that barely covered her boobs or her ass. She was forever asking him stupid questions about work and telling him how interesting it all sounded and how she admired him. Of course he fell for it, the pathetic idiot. He’s been unfaithful to me all our married life and I’ve turned a blind eye to it, but to take up with that tart was the final insult. Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, Jennifer. So I’m going to enjoy Sven. Every glorious inch of him,’ she declared.

  ‘Would you never think of leaving your husband?’ Jennifer ventured, wondering how Gillian could bear to stay married to such a philanderer.

  ‘God no!’ Gillian was horrified. ‘Give up my lovely house, my foreign holidays, my parties. Bryan lets me spend what I like, it’s an unspoken agreement between us. As long as I don’t hassle him about his women, he doesn’t hassle me about what I spend. I’d be far too much of a coward to start out on my own. I like the security of marriage. I like my luxuries. I like being Mrs Bryan Curtis. That’s one thing Angie Baldwin will never be, however much she thinks she will. Bryan will never leave me. He has it too easy.’ Gillian gazed at Jennifer with her limpid blue eyes. ‘Let me tell you something, sweetheart. There’s no such thing as the perfect marriage. I can promise you that. Now that you know, you won’t mind if I spend the night with Sven, will you? Bad and all as you might think I am, I would never let the children see me with another man. Thank you for being so discreet earlier.’

  ‘Sure, it’s no problem,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘You’re a real pet, Jennifer, and I’m very pleased with your work. You’re much better with the kids than Liz was. I like the way you can be firm but kind. She let them away with murder. Angie Baldwin, you did me a favour.’ Gillian laughed. ‘I’m going to give you a tenner extra a week from now on, you deserve it.’ Gillian drifted out through the french doors to catch the last rays of the sun. Jennifer watched her go and felt sorry for her. It was an empty life that she led, for all her money and style. And her husband sounded like a right creep. More power to Gillian for having her own affair.

  Towards the beginning of August, Gillian announced glumly that Bryan was coming to spend the month. It was clear that she wasn’t looking forward to her husband’s arrival. Neither was Jennifer, particularly. They had all got into a nice little routine. Gillian was happy having her affair. She stayed with Sven several nights a week. Emma and Gavin were not as whiney as at the beginning. They knew now that when Jennifer said something she meant it. When they’d arrived in Majorca they would go and wheedle and pester Gillian if Jennifer said no to something. But now Gillian backed her up, much to Jennifer’s relief. It had been a hard-fought battle at first, but it was working out well and all of them were quite enjoying themselves. Gavin and Emma were happy with their playmates. Charlotte had been over to the villa several times and Gillian liked her. And the two of them were teaching the children to swim in the pool.

  Now Bryan Curtis was coming to stay, and Jennifer had the feeling that once their father arrived, the children might start acting up again. Gillian was disgusted. She wouldn’t be able to see Sven for a while. Conchita and Estella were dying to see ‘the husband.’ It would be very interesting indeed to see what went on in the next few weeks, Jennifer wrote in her daily letter to Ronan.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ‘Good to meet you.’ Bryan Curtis held her hand for much longer than was necessary. Jennifer disliked him on sight. He certainly wasn’t what she expected. For some reason, she’d expected Gillian’s husband to be tall, handsome, rather suave. Bryan was none of these. He was medium height, stocky, with a thickening waistline and the beginning of a paunch. She guessed he was in his early forties. He had the look of a man who’d enjoyed too many long boozy business lunches. His eyes were a watery blue, and he had thick wet lips. Angie Baldwin’s taste left a lot to be desired, Jennifer felt.

  ‘Gill tells me you’re working miracles on the monsters,’ he said, his eyes roving up and down her tanned leggy figure. Jennifer felt uncomfortable. ‘She didn’t tell me how pretty you were,’ he added, giving her what she could only describe as a lecherous smile. Jennifer’s heart sank. Imagine having to put up with him for a month.

  ‘They’re no trouble, Mr Curtis,’ she murmured. It was ten-thirty, the children were in bed and Gillian had just collected him from Palma Airport.

  ‘Mr Curtis! Good heavens. The name is Bryan,’ he said expansively.

  ‘Bryan,’ she echoed politely. Gillian reappeared, much to her relief.

  ‘Come and join us for supper,’ she invited.

  ‘I have a bit of a headache. I think I’ll have an early night,’ Jennifer fibbed.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Gillian exclaimed.

  ‘That’s usually the kind of thing my wife says,’ Bryan joked. Gillian glared at him.

  ‘Good
night then,’ Jennifer said hastily and made a quick retreat to the safety of her room. Flinging herself on the bed, she shook out Ronan’s latest letter to reread it and savour it in peace and quiet. There were letters from Paula and her mother as well. They’d all arrived that morning but she’d only had the chance to skim through them. Gillian had been up to ninety. The children, aware that their father was coming, were excitable. It had been a long day. It was nice to be alone with her mail.

  Ronan was working like a demon. He’d saved a lot of money. He’d gone to Atlantic City for the weekend and won twenty dollars on the gambling machines. His boss in the restaurant had told him if he wanted to stay in America he could become manager of the restaurant because he was the best worker he’d ever employed, Ronan wrote proudly. He had phoned home but William wouldn’t speak to him, and Rachel was too intimidated to say more than a few words. Jennifer felt terribly sad for him. She’d love to be with him, to put her arms around him and tell him not to take any notice of his bastard of a father. He’d told her that he missed her and that the highlight of his day was when one of her letters arrived. She felt the same, she’d assure him.

  Paula’s letter was much shorter. She was fed up in St Margaret’s Bay. She missed Dublin and Helen, and working for Nick. Jennifer’s job sounded a thousand times more interesting, Paula moaned. She wished she was living the life of Reilly in a luxury villa in Majorca. Barry had pissed off to Australia, and though she was dating the assistant manager of the hotel, it was only a summer romance, while she was at home. Helen had told her she wouldn’t be able to get her a cheap flight until later in the season so it looked as if she wouldn’t be able to meet up with Jennifer. She seemed totally fed up, Jennifer thought. Which wasn’t like Paula. Somehow or other, Jennifer couldn’t imagine Paula putting up with Emma and Gavin. She chuckled at the thought. Being an au pair was not half as glamorous as Paula imagined it was.